The Talk
by wp1fan
Summary: "I'm pretty sure she's under the impression that you're angry with her." Takes place in "Headhunters" timeline, but only tiny synopsis spoilers. *Chapter 3 up now. *Now M-Rated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Forgive me because I have NO CLUE what this story is or where it came from or where (if) it's going anywhere. It's just something I wanted to get down. You decide if it goes further, but it won't hurt my feelings if this is enough. This is a character I have wanted to write, but am not so sure on his voice, yet. Hard, hard dialogue. I adore him, though. Very minor synopsis spoilers for "Headhunters", but if you've seen the preview, you're golden.**

**Disclaimer: If they were mine, they'd be making out. Boy, I hope they're making out regardless.**

Castle wipes his palms on his thighs, takes a deep breath and opens the door to the diner. The loud bell clanging against the glass startles him a bit as he attempts to shake off his nervousness. This is ridiculous; it's just lunch. The smell of greasy goodness assaults his senses and his stomach rumbles. He glances left and right, raising his head up over some of the standing patrons, not yet finding who he's looking for.

"Rick, over here."

Castle turns towards the voice and tests his smile as he heads to a booth in the back corner. Before he slides into the black and white checkered pleather, he stands at the end of the table and stretches his arm out towards the man already seated. "Mr. Beckett. Sir." He shakes his hand, nods an additional greeting and is pretty sure he should have dried his hands off again. He's a sweaty mess. What is he, sixteen?

"It's _Jim_, Rick." Kate's father smiles amusingly and Castle is pretty sure he's poking fun at him a bit.

"Jim." Castle agrees to the informal name and slides to sit. "I was surprised to hear from you this morning. I know you said everything's okay, but-"

"Everything's just fine. I hope I didn't pull you away from anything too important."

"No, no. I was just…working. Great time for a break." He hopes Jim assumes that he means writing, because explaining his new gig (that's starting to feel like a perpetual hazing) with Detective Slaughter might prove awkward.

"Close to a deadline?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm near the end on this one." Not a lie. He loves how it works out when words have multiple meanings.

"Ah, good. Well, anyway, I have a favor I hope you can help me with. A friend of mine's wife is a huge fan of your books, and I told him I'd see about getting one of them signed as an anniversary gift." He pulls a well-worn copy of Heat Wave from where it had been resting on the seat beside him. "He's panicking. That many years together, you start running out of good ideas, you know?" He watches Jim's eyes light with his genuine smile and remembers how Kate's always did the same. He wonders if they still do. He hasn't seen one of those smiles in a while. May not again, if he's being honest with himself.

"Sure thing. Unique gifts are hard to come by regardless. I always appreciate a well-thought out present, and I'd be honored to help." He wiggles his fingers in invitation for Jim to hand him the novel. The heft of his own words, Kate's first words in his world, feels heavier than usual. "You should have brought more. I would have done them all."

"I'll tell him that the next few years' holidays are covered, then." He laughs his appreciation and it makes Castle feel good, useful.

As a server meanders by to drop off their ice waters and silverware with promises of service soon, Castle asks to borrow her pen. When she acquiesces, he thinks up a witty personalized message to jot down above his signature. He kind of misses that, the personalization, not just scrawling a sloppy autograph. In the earlier days of his success, the lines at book signings were a lot shorter, fans were a lot smarter (and less busty), and he got to spend more time simply interacting with his audience. Now, Paula insists he sign the front covers of books (_really, who does that?)_ because she's done some crazy math determining how many more copies he can move through an hour. When he finishes inking an inside page for Jim's friend, the impatient waitress already has her hand out and looks at him through suspicious eyes like she's missing something, then shrugs and tucks the pen back behind her ear and saunters off. Castle scowls. "Not a fan?"

"Guess not," Jim chuckles. "Speaking of fans, you know I called Katie to see if she could ask you about the autograph." Castle stills. "I had to beg, but she agreed to scribble a little 'Nikki Heat' message too," he offers. Castle is surprised; he's pretty sure Kate would tell him where he could shove the book if he asked her to autograph one. "But she said you two haven't spoken in a couple of weeks. Imagine my surprise at that." The last part leaves his mouth slowly and too evenly, opening up the floor for Rick to give a rebuttal.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, I guess it has been a couple of weeks." It's been seventeen days, actually, but who's counting? Certainly not him.

"Why is that? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

_Awkward it is, then._ He thinks that Kate's dad would be a master interrogator. His voice is still soft, but his countenance a little stern. His hands are steepled on the table, fingertips tapping one another while awaiting his answer. Man, is it hot in here?

"Just a change of pace, really." _Liar._ "You know, a slight altered perspective." _Liar._ "Little bit of writer's block that I'm trying to shake." _Pants on fire._

"Huh." He can tell Jim's not buying it either. He looks disappointed and Castle's not sure why that stings so much, but he just wants to blurt that it's his daughter's own damn fault.

"Did you tell Katie about the writer's block? Because I'm pretty sure she's under the impression that you're angry with her."

"I'm—I—" Shit. So, Kate's told her dad all sorts of horrid things about him? Totally not fair. Jim deserves both sides of their story. "I, actually, _am_ angry with her." He tests the words and finds them liberating, so he surges ahead. "She lied to me."

"Lied?" He can tell by the furrow of his brow that he wasn't expecting that response. Castle has the sudden urge to bolt from the booth and high-tail it out of the diner. He's about to knock Kate off of the pedestal her father has undoubtedly placed her high upon. Hell, he had her up there recently too. "Does this have anything to do with the British fellow she was dating because—"

"Brit-Hunt? She's _dating_ him?" He's glad this place is so packed that they haven't had a chance to order food yet. He's going to be sick. He slides his fingers up through his hair, then back down leaving the heel of his hand pressed into his right eye. "That's, um, no, that's not it. I didn't know."

"No, Rick. Forgive my word choice. Katie did assure me that they _weren't_ dating." Jim waves his hand in dismissal, apology, but continues. "I called her several weeks ago and she was out having a drink. I was startled when it wasn't your name she used when she excused herself from him to talk to me. I just assumed you two…by now…well, anyway, she explained that you had a girlfriend and I was jumping to conclusions _again_." The elder man rolls his eyes a bit, seemingly exasperated at the two complicated individuals.

Yes, exasperation. Castle totally knows how he feels.

"Not a girlfriend," he corrects immediately. He wants to ask how the girlfriend thing even came up in his conversation with Kate, but doesn't. "Fun. She was fun." Jim eyes him questionably and Castle rolls the words around in his brain again and realizes they could have been misconstrued, probably were. "No, no. Not _that_ kind of fun. I needed something different than what I have with Kate. Not that Kate and I are having _that_ kind of fun. We've never. Well, I mean we only—and that was just once." Jim's eyebrow rises comically and Castle groans and tries jump-roping his words again. "God, not _that._ We've never done that. Kissed. We kissed. Once. Long time ago." He's winded as he finishes and he feels like his face is on fire, and he's pretty sure Jim's hiding some laughter. Damn it. Yep, Jim just lured a confession out of him without even trying. Smooth. He's pretty sure he just embarrassed the hell out of himself. And Kate for that matter. Serves her right. "But, no. No girlfriend." _Way to keep it simple, genius._

"Thanks for the clarification. I think." He winks. "But, son, you said my daughter lied to you. What about?"

"Oh. I told her I loved her," he pauses, wondering why his words were spilling unfiltered here. He's pretty sure Kate's going to kill him if Jim ever shares any of this. Probably kill them both. There's probably some unspoken Kate Beckett rule that says he and her father aren't even allowed to share space without her presence. That same thought manifested last year when Jim came to his loft to find out what kind of danger his daughter was in. _'She cares about you, Rick.'_ And again as they sat side by side in cramped hospital waiting room chairs, each sharing stories of Kate—Castle wasn't sure if they were trying to make themselves feel better (it didn't help) or just pulling the memories to the forefront of their minds so they were further ingrained there(just in case). Sometimes, when he sits alone, he daydreams of him and Jim sharing a meal-similar to what they're doing right now in this small diner—only in this ex-future, he pulls out a ring for Jim's inspection and approval, and asks him for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Trying to erase that vision from his mind on top of admitting his confession of love aloud again, hurts even more than he anticipated. It reemphasizes that the future he's mapped out for himself is going to have to be marred with detours. His mother keeps wanting to talk about it, how he should move on, taste happiness, love the one he's with (he immediately put Jacinda back on a plane after that Scotch-happy conversation with his mother), and he can feel his wounded heart pounding against his chest at every mention of Kate.

"And what did she say to that?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Surprise flitters across Jim's face and Castle thinks talking about this with this man probably wasn't one of his brightest ideas. "Where does the lying come in?"

"That is the lie. She didn't say _anything_." He lets out a frustrated huff. "She let me believe that she didn't remember that I'd said it."

"Why wouldn't she remember?" He looks thoroughly confused, a little protective of his daughter, but a bit sympathetic towards Rick, too.

"It was when she…last summer. At Roy Montgomery's funeral."

"When she was shot."

Castle flinches when he says it, loses a breath. He hates the reminder, the memory of that day, that overwhelming grief and helplessness. "Yes, then. And she's told me for months that she didn't remember _any_ of it. Lies." His voice is raising and he lowers it out of respect for the man sitting across from him. He's pretty sure he might cry, those thick, infuriating, girly tears of frustration that are continually begging for exodus. He hates them, swallows them back, chokes a little on the emotion. "I watched her tell a suspect that she remembered everything from that day. Not me," he whispers, done done done with this conversation. He needs to excuse himself. "Listen, I'd better be going."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"It's not fair to expect you to be unbiased here, a sounding board for my resentment. She's your daughter and you love her—"

"So do you."

"I shouldn't."

"Doesn't work that way."

"I wish it did," he sighs, exhausted by this conversation.

"Listen Rick, I _am_ biased here. But not because Katie's my daughter, but because I know how much she cares about you. She would never hurt you intentionally."

"Doesn't matter, Jim. The best intentions are fraught with disappointment. She didn't want to wound my pride, embarrass me, I get it. But, she only delayed the inevitable. I'm more humiliated _now_, wondering how many people figured out what I couldn't—that I was waiting for someone who had no intentions of waiting for me. She knew what I wanted and it was damned selfish of her to string me along."

"I don't think she was _stringing you along_, Rick."

He's taken aback at the argument, a slap in the face. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I imagined all of it, wanted it so much that I made it all up. Could be," he puffs out, resigned.

"That's not what I meant." Castle's confused eyes meet her father's encouraged ones. "I think she feels the same way." Jim pauses, and Castle can sense some hesitancy, the awkwardness of the situation maybe finally hitting him, too. Instead of backing away, Jim smiles optimistically and pats Castle's hand, where it's fisted on the table. "I'm certain Katie loves you, too."

He wants to laugh, curse this man that he cares about, whose daughter he loves. Optimism floats to the surface of his heart and he shoves it back down. He cannot do this another time. Can't. He doesn't dare let hope simmer, for he can't bear to let disappointment boil over again. "She doesn't."

"Rick-"

"She _doesn't_," he insists, biting the words out a little louder than he intended. He doesn't want to disrespect this man, but he can't handle this anymore. He's quiet now, stoic. He shakes his head and meets Jim's eyes, beseeching him to let it go. "Kate doesn't love me."

"And, what exactly makes you so sure of that?" Castle is shocked at the voice and lifts wide eyes to Kate, standing tall and authoritative, intimidating (livid?), at the end of their table.

**A/N: I won't mark this Complete. There might be more. But I really just wanted to write some Jim to see what happened. The verdict? You tell me. Feedback?**

**P.S. If there are any old-school CSI fans out there, I gave one of my favorite Gil Grissom quotes to Castle in this fic. I miss that character so much. Never thought I'd love another the same way, but I think Rick Castle has taken over. Love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm pretty sure that you guys are all sorts of crazy (my kind of people)-the reviews? Nuts. Even if I didn't have ideas for how to continue this fic, I would have made something up because how could I say 'no' to that response? Well, obviously, I couldn't-here's more.**

**This is for the awesome peeps on Twitter who are sending some special thoughts and prayers my way for my mom. Back in the hospital again. You guys are my therapy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Sometimes pretend they are. Makes me happy.**

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"Kate?" Castle gapes vacantly, says her name like he's not sure it's really her. It's not the same disgust or indifference that's been coating his face as of late, but something a little softer, with a lot of fear mixed in.

That answers her question on whether he knew she was going to be here or not. Definitely a _'not'_. Well, he's a surprise to her, too. So, her dad set this up, then. She shouldn't have opened her big mouth on the phone with him, jabbering on pettily about how she couldn't ask Castle to sign a book for his friend because she hadn't _seen_ Castle in weeks. And it hurt. And admitting that to her dad hurt too but, like it always happened with backwards confessions to him, it also made her feel a bit better. But, she should have known. There was more inquiry than comfort from him this time. He asked too many questions. Should. Have. Known. _Damn it, Daddy._

"Ah, you're right on time. We haven't even ordered yet." Her dad slides from the booth and stands to give her a hug, quick, but with a little more oomph to it. Oomph that feels a little like an apology, but a lot like 'don't you dare run away'. It makes her _absolutely_ want to run away.

"Seems like I'm late. For the essential stuff, at least." She raises her brow to her father as he ushers her towards the bench seat. He ignores the look and indicates for her to slide in first. She does, eyeing the man across from her as she scootches along the sticky fabric until she's wedged against the window. Trapped. "Hello, Castle." She tries to say it bitterly, but the bite just isn't there.

He's still sexy as hell and she hates that that's the first thing she notices, but the dark prints under his eyes lend him an exhausted aura. It's his own damn fault, she reminds herself. If he wants to play gangbusters (literally) by day and playboy by night then, yeah, he probably _is_ fatigued. Thinking about blonde bimbos doing their best to help drain him of his energy makes her guts churn. And now he's sitting here telling her father that she doesn't love him? How dare he? She wonders if her dad inquired about his new girlfriend, trying valiantly to play matchmaker again. And, what, Castle can't just be honest and admit that he doesn't care about her anymore? Embarrassed to tell her dad that she's too complicated and not enough fun? Instead, he has to turn the tables and make it _her_ fault that they're not together? _Oh_, _no you don't._

"Hi. Kate," he sighs her name and she hates it, all breathy and morose. "About what you heard-. No explanation is needed. We don't need to do this here. Now. At all."

"I think you should," her father interjects. Castle looks hurt and her dad, unwavering. Since when did Castle and her dad share these meaningful looks?

"I think we _will_," Kate snaps. "You," she points to Castle, "aren't going to try to garner sympathy from my father for a path that you chose. You don't get to put the blame on me."

Castle is staring at her, confusion coloring his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

_Fine._

"And you," she turns to her dad. "I love you, but this isn't your business."

"_You _are my business because you're my daughter. And _he's_ my business because he's in love with my daughter."

"Dad, stop. He's not—"

"I am." Castle interjects, her own argument falling away from her lips. "I do love your daughter." Castle is nodding his head while he stares at her dad, not her. Kate's watching them both, this bizarre reality hitting her in the chest, sending her heart hammering. Her dad is smiling at Castle, a smooth, proud smile that he usually reserves only for her. She likes that if she's going to have to share it, she's sharing it with this man. But…_this man_, God, what is going on here?

"Could you maybe look at _me_ when you say that?" She's teasing a bit, but not. She thought he was done, tired of waiting or maybe never truly there to begin with. But, but, but. Love. _Love._

"I did, once." His eyes graze the table before slipping up to hers. "And then I watched you die." The pain in his eyes and hitch in his voice cuts off her oxygen. "And then you lied to me, claimed you didn't remember. I know you do—I heard you say it. You pushed me away for months, Kate, and I didn't push back, gave you the space you didn't see fit to even tell me that you needed. One moment you're telling me that I'm using you, your life, as a jungle-gym. Then, you lead me to swings to make promises of futures and prospective relationships. Or maybe you weren't referring to me, us?"

'_Yes, yes, you. Who else?'_ She thinks it, but still struggles to breathe, definitely can't speak.

"Well, _the school's funniest kid_—," he continues, flinging more words from an argument she's regretted since, against her. "—doesn't know where he's allowed to play anymore. But, I feel like I'm on the merry-go-round, Kate. I'm stuck and I'm spiraling out of control." He's pleading to her with his eyes and she doesn't know what to do, how to fix whatever is broken. "I need you to let me go. I can't do this anymore."

She feels her dad shifting beside her, can see his head ping-ponging between her and Castle in her peripheral vision. It might be comical if what he was having to witness was less sullen, less heartbreaking. Her heart is breaking; a mere man can do what a speeding bullet couldn't. "I don't want to let you go, Castle," she manages to choke out.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I'm selfish. You know I'm selfish. It wasn't fair for me to ask you to wait."

"God, Kate, it's not about the waiting." He lowers his voice, deep , tight, and leans into the table, closer—for emphasis or intimacy, she doesn't know. "I would have waited an eternity for you to be what you think you need to be. But, I can't do it knowing you don't feel the same way."

"I _love_ you, you idiot."

Her father chokes on his water beside her, a strangled laugh tailed onto the end. "Well, that's one way to do it. You two don't do easy much, I see."

"What-?" Castle stutters, jerking upright.

"Hi folks. Sorry for the long wait. Have you had time to look over the menu? Let me tell you about our lunch special for the day…"

**0000000000000000000000000**

The waitress's untimely interruption actually served to let Castle catch his breath again. Kate _does _love him? Ha. He's pretty sure he might do cartwheels right here in this crowded diner. He's trying to not excessively worried that things are a little awkward. That's to be expected, right? They just had an emotionally charged, angry love-fest in front of her father, who served as mediator.

They gave their orders (they all ordered the lunch special because, _no_, they hadn't had a chance to look over the menu), and the silence left at the table was deafening. Thank God Jim had the awareness to break up the sweet tension by having Kate fulfill her promise to sign Heat Wave. She rolled her eyes as she flipped through the first couple of pages, but when she reached his message and signature, she beamed down at the book and scribbled her own note alongside it.

Now, they're finishing their meal, and Castle wonders how much longer Kate can go without meeting his eyes. He keeps stealing glances at her, but she's staring down at her plate…or out the window…or at the salt and pepper shakers. He might be more anxious if she didn't have a tiny smile twisting her lips. He wants to stretch across the table and steal her mouth with his own. Can he do that? Probably _not_ in front of Jim. He looks over to the man in question and Jim's eyes are on him, jovial and knowing, with maybe an itty-bitty bit of '_I don't think you'll hurt her, but I'll kill you if you do'_. He _so_ recognizes that he's envisioning making out with his daughter. Ah, that's a little weird.

"So, any interesting criminals as of late? I miss your stories about the crazier ones." Her dad breaks the uncanny silence and Rick's extremely grateful for the reprieve from it.

"Huh?" She's running her fingers over some initials that are carved into the wooden table and visibly startles at the question when she realizes it was aimed towards her. "Crazy cases? No, not recently. Actually, we've been eerily case free for the last several days. We're even caught up on paperwork. Esposito and Ryan are driving each other insane with boredom."

"Not a far drive," Castle quips, and she finally meets his eyes with a smile. He feels a pang of disappointment for all of the time they've wasted on stupid misunderstandings. Some of his favorite days in the precinct were the case free (and paperwork free, especially) ones. They'd all order in take-out and not have to rush to eat like they did in the midst of most cases. Sometimes he would even convince Kate to join him and the boys at a game of cards. He won't tell her, but he almost liked it better when she refused-because she would always drape over his shoulder and peek at his hand, tease him about his self-acclaimed poker prowess whenever he'd slide his folded cards into the middle of the table. He tries to think back on the last time they did this, and he finds himself wondering if she loved him then, and when she began.

"We've been picking around at some cold cases, too. Nothing much panning out so far."

"Do you ever go back over your shooting?"

Castle freezes at her father's question, wishes he'd take it back. For weeks he hasn't been around to make sure she didn't get snared by that trap again, fall back into the rabbit hole that had consumed her and almost cost her her life.

"No. I sort of made a promise that I would let that rest for a while." She's smiling at him tenderly, and the gesture of what she's proven by letting go hits him hard. He has to tell her that he hasn't let it go, that he's hanging on for her. The one lie still between them. What if they're over before they start?

"_I've_ been looking into it, Jim."

"You what?" He knew to expect anger, braced himself for it, but the ketchup bottle she was twirling has rattled over, clanging loudly against her plate and it magnifies the displeasure in her voice, making him jerk. "For how long?" She exhales the question at him, clearly disappointed. But she's not shutting him out.

"Since I asked _you_ not to. Let me explain," he interjects when she goes to rebuke him. He takes a deep breath in preparation, can't do this slowly. "I received a phone call from a man. He has information, information I still don't know. Kate, this man said that I needed to keep you away from this case or your life would be in danger."

Her father flinches and Castle sympathizes. "Do you know who this man is, Rick?"

"No. Mr. Smith is what I was instructed to call him. He knew Roy Montgomery, got some files from him. I'm assuming he knows the same information Roy did." Jim nods, taking it all in.

"God, Castle, you should have told me. I could have flown under the radar on this. I need you to tell me everything—"

"I will tell you everything I know. You too, Jim. It's not much. More questions than answers, really. But, Kate, you can't do this, can't be involved in this."

"Castle—"

"No, Katie, he's right," her father says, strictly, leaving no room for argument. "But, you can't do this either, son. More than you'll ever know, I appreciate you willing to risk yourself for my daughter. I lost my wife to this, almost lost my daughter. Finding an answer, closing a case, is not worth your life. Johanna wouldn't want either of you avenging her death. And, Katie, the best payback for what was taken from you is to live the life that was spared. If it's fated for this to come to a close someday, it will happen regardless of whether you're pursuing it or not. If you want to fight for something, fight for happiness. Honey, you haven't had nearly enough of that."

Castle watches Jim lace his fingers with his daughter's atop of the table and it squeezes at his own paternal instincts. He then feels the warmth of Jim's other hand over his own, tugging the short distance until Castle's fingers meet Kate's. Jim releases them both and leans back, contented, leaving them to hang onto each other.

The spell-breaking waitress comes back moments later to bring the check and, after a few weak arguments, Castle breaks his hand away from Kate's to stretch for the bill and start digging in his pants for the money.

Castle slides from the booth first, then waits on Jim and Kate to do the same. His fingers are itching to touch her, pull her close and she looks like she might want that to, but he doesn't know, is afraid to assume. She loves him, and that awesome revelation is enough for now. He can tamper down any kissing and caressing and all the other stuff that his love-starved brain is begging him for. None of that matters right now. _She loves him_.

**0000000000000000000000000**

Her dad is ushering her ahead of him and she turns back to find Castle (God, she's this needy already?) and he's following behind them, still busy shoving his wallet back into his pocket as they make their way towards the front door. Kate pauses near the small entryway and turns to hug her father goodbye.

"Thank you so much dad."

"Thank you for joining me, honey." He eases from her and turns to Castle. Castle offers his hand to her dad, but Jim bypasses it and pulls him in by the shoulders for a quick embrace. "You too, Rick. Take care of my daughter."

"If she'll let me."

_I will_.

"Do I need to remind you both that I'm the one with the gun here?"

"Good luck." Her father claps him on the back with a grin. Castle nods with a faux-solemnness indicating that he'll need it. She wants to kiss the artificial pout from his lips as his punishment.

"And Rick?"

"Yes?"

"For future reference, I do not want you to illustrate to me-written (he raises the hand holding Naked Heat) _or_ verbal-any _fun_ you may, or may not, be having with my daughter. Understood?" His face looks stern, but his eyes are twinkling.

"Clearly. No fun. Got it."

"Wha-?" Her interrogation is smothered by Castle's palm. He's behind her, body pressed into her back, hand covering her mouth, her now smile.

"Nothing. Don't ask." He's whispering in her ear and his lips barely graze the shell, sending a shockwave of arousal scampering down her body. _How freaking embarrassing._ Her dad is watching them knowingly, and she stupidly nips Castle's finger to get him to release her mouth, but that doesn't really help the situation _at all_. He growls quietly into her hair and pushes his hips closer in an instant reflex before releasing her and stepping back far too quickly to play it off innocently. She hears him clatter into a stack of nested highchairs behind her and closes her eyes and shakes her head as her dad chuckles.

She makes the mistake of turning to look at him and he looks guilty, but adorably innocent and all sorts of hot and bothered. He meets her eyes and there's this dangerous sizzle and then he goes and clears his throat, breaks some of the heat by looking back at her father (geez, her _father_).

"All right, I'm heading out. Do either of you need a ride?" Jim looks with weak curiosity at Kate and Castle, and she's pretty sure he knows there's going to be refusal.

"I walked," Castle says. "But it's nice out, and I could use some more fresh air."

"I taxied from the precinct, but I've already called it a day. I'm going to head on home." She turns to Castle, eyes him imploringly. She's not ready to let him go, not when all of these lovely confessions are still lingering between them. She wants his mouth on her. Jeez, she's got to tame this. _Talk._ They need to talk. "Wanna walk me?"

"I do."

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**A/N: It's all for you, so I hope you enjoyed it. I'm not sure anything could live up to 100+ reviews. Craziness. Feedback? **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: With all the real-world crap I'm going through, I still get lots of smiles-you guys and your feedback have been awesome. I really do appreciate all of the kind words more than you know. This Chapter is M Rated. I can't help it. I was joking with someone that my layout is a little similar from fic to fic. Angst, Sweet, Smut. I'm OCD-I like format. I like even numbers too, but all of my stories have odd numbers of chapters, so there goes that source of blame. Oh, well. :-) **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. But, I want them.**

"Remind me to call every boyfriend Alexis has ever had and apologize for damaging them." They're less than a block from her place when one of them finally says something. It's been a nice, laidback silence, not necessarily awkward, more about reflecting side-by-side as they walk. A lot has happened today.

She huffs a nervous laugh and eyes him sideways from beneath her lashes. "He's not that bad."

"Wonderful man. Fabulous father. Intimidating as hell when he puts his mind to it," he laughs. "Did you see him giving me the 'don't touch my daughter' look before we left?" That's the same one that I give the twerps that come to pick Alexis up for dates."

"He did not." She chortles loudly and she feels light, airy, different. Who would have known secrets weighed so heavily?

"He totally did. Wants to break my fingers," he exaggerates, pulling another smile out of her. "I know those looks. I _have_ one of those looks." He gives her a mock one of the very looks he's talking about, squinted eyes and thinning of lips, and she sticks her tongue out at him in return. He releases the expression and laughs with her.

"If you remember, he urged us to touch earlier. Your point is invalid."

"_Hands_, Kate. Doesn't count. That invalidates your invalidation."

"Well, we don't touch all that often. I think we're safe." She doesn't want safe with him. Their arms are swinging lightly with walking momentum, and she moves to graze her pinky along his, hooking them for a tiny tease of a second. "Shouldn't be a problem right?"

"Um, right?"

"Or, maybe if I'm the one doing the touching." She places her hand at the small of his back and runs her palm slowly up the soft fabric of his plum shirt, pausing between his shoulder blades when he stops walking. She likes the way the heat of his flesh seeps through the starched material. "That's probably okay, huh?" She feels a little dirty and a lot silly theorizing about what her dad would and wouldn't be okay with. She's pretty sure that her dad isn't naïve enough to think that she and Castle were going to declare their love for one another, then have a peck on the cheek be the extent of the physicality. Surely he expects them to—well, they're not going to do _that_ tonight, but eventually… Yeah, awkward train of thought. Stopping now.

"That feels good," he hums at the sensation of her fingers bunching into the muscles beneath his neck.

"You're tense." Her other hand joins the first in touching him, this one running through his hair, nails grazing his scalp. He stumbles back into her a bit and she is forced to move both hands down to his hips to steady him.

"You don't know the half of it," he murmurs under his breath.

"I heard that." She pushes her forehead into his back and laughs, wraps both arms around him, hands meeting at his abdomen, where she pulls him closer. This is still a little weird, touching him freely. A really, really excellent kind of weird. She might be taking advantage of it a wee little bit. Just yesterday she was thinking about him, cursing how much she missed him, wondering how to get over that. Now, she's wrapped around him, wanting him so, but suspicious about why it doesn't feel rushed. It should, shouldn't it? All she can think about is pushing him into the lobby of her building, hoping no one's around, and moving her hands lower, lower, to find out just how tense he really is and not leaving much of what she wants to the imagination.

Too fast, right?

"Yeah, yeah. Well, here we are," he gestures grandly to the front doors.

"Wanna come up?" She's holding the door to the lobby open with one hand while the other is timidly fiddling with her hair.

"I want to."

"But…?"

"No, no buts. I just—Yeah, we probably need to talk, huh?"

"What on earth would we talk about?" She rolls her eyes up, as if in thought. She can torment him too.

"No idea, love." He breezes past her, through the open door with a cocky smile. The way she wants to wipe it off of his face has nothing to do with talking.

_Touché._

**0000000000000000000000000**

"So, how mad are you still?" he asks as they walk into her apartment, all preamble lost.

No more pussy-footing, at least.

"Mad is probably not the right word."

"Worse?" he winces.

"Different," she corrects, as she pulls a couple of water bottles from her fridge and takes a huge gulp from one. "Disappointed. I hate that you went after this alone."

"I had no choice." He shakes his head as she offers him a bottle. She sets them both down and heads back towards him, still standing just inside her apartment.

"You always have choices, but that's not the point. No more. Dad was right. Just…no more, Castle," she whispers, beseechingly. Part of her hates letting go, especially knowing there's more out there, someone who knows it all. This feels raw, open like it did when Castle convinced her to let it go the first time. _It's enough for now_. But, that wound healed with time and _him_, and this one will too.

"No more," he agrees.

"Come here." She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him to her.

He acquiesces and she feels the rigidity in his form loosen. His arms come around her, and his hands hesitantly climb beneath her hair to rest around her shoulders.

"I've wanted to do this for a while," he says.

"Well, if we had been this close lately, it would have probably been because I was strangling you." She smiles into his neck and hopes he can feel it. There's truth in her statement, but healing in the humor.

"I've been an ass."

"You've been an ass," she agrees. "Something about _'assuming'_ that does that for ya."

"The whole 'you' and 'me' part of the saying would imply that you're an ass, too."

"Seems fair," she admits, the least she can do, shoulder half the blame. "I'm sorry that I wasn't honest with you."

"Why weren't you?" He's trying not to be bitter, she can tell. She can't see his face because it's buried in her hair, but she can hear the pain, the bit of him that's still suspicious of her intentions. She loves him and hashing this hurtful stuff out is good for them, what's been missing. They suck at this.

"I was scared. I'm still scared. I'm horrible at this, why I don't do it. I don't react well to being hurt."

"And I hurt you."

"You did. You gave up on me and moved on before I could blink, Castle."

"I didn't move on."

"Just because it wasn't serious, doesn't mean it isn't moving on," she says with a little more bite than she intended.

"_Nothing happened_." His words are adamant and she believes them. "Because I _couldn't_ move on, Kate. I was committed to you, whether I had a right to be or not."

"Okay." She's takes a deep inhale of relief and exhales her fear and resentment, lets it all go. "But, Castle, you did have a right."

"I didn't know that."

"You do now. I usually keep people at arm's length, so I don't have to worry about commitment."

"I'm closer than arm's length right now," he reminds her. But she doesn't need reminded when she can feel him pressed against her, head to toe. It's not platonic and it's not meant to be, but she didn't expect an embrace to be this sensual, deep. She wants closer, closer, but she's not sure that's possible. Not without—yeah, not going there.

"You're an exception to a lot of my rules."

"I like that." He takes a finger and pushes her hair back behind her ear so he can talk into it. "Tell me more."

She shivers, the intimacy of the moment really catching up with her. "I don't kiss on first dates. Long time rule. Never broken it."

"Huh. Kate?"

"Hmm?" She tugs him closer, loving the heat of him around her. She jokes a lot about being able to protect herself, gun-wielding detective that she is, but he does make her feel so safe.

"Can I-? Nevermind." He nuzzles his face further into her hair and she'd normally joke, ask him if he's sniffing it, but she doesn't want to break the moment. She breathes him in, just to even the score and he smells like mint, and musk, and baby powder, and who'd have thought that'd be such an arousing mixture?

"Can you what?"

"Nothing. I'm good."

"You know, if you don't ask, the answer's always gonna be 'no'."

"Deep," he laughs at her ear and she squeezes his shoulders in reprisal. "S'okay. I can keep my pride intact this way." He leans back to show her his rich smile, then palms her head back into his neck, holding her to him gently.

"Ask me."

"Nope."

"What if the answer is 'yes'?" she probes.

"What if it's not?" he retorts back.

"The answer's probably 'yes'."

"Ha. You don't even know what I was going to ask. Kate, will you let me have a gun when I come back to the precinct?"

"You know better." He smacks his lips to her cheek when she pinches his side.

"See? Hmm," he hums a thought into her jaw before moving his next question to her ear, his words nipping there dangerously. "Kate, from now on can I assist you in physically apprehending suspects?"

"Nope."

"Kate, can I kiss y-"

Her mouth is covering his before he can finish. She hoped that's where his mind was going, but they were going to do this regardless, she'd already decided. She wasn't lying—she doesn't kiss on first dates. But, she can argue that this is their hundredth date, not a date at all, or just say _the hell with it_ and admit that this is only the first of a laundry list of rules that Richard Castle is going to force her to break.

His tongue is pushing against her lips, shoving all rational thoughts out of her mind. All she can feel is him, soft lips, warm mouth. She has a feeling that she just opened the floodgates; she can't get enough of him, wants him on her, over her, in her. He pulls away for a second, meets her eyes, swallows hard, then moves back in, sucking urgently on her lip and then he dips into her again and she's gone, gone, gone.

They finally had to stop to breathe, time-out. They're still close, foreheads pressed together, unspoken agreement between them that this kissing thing is great and they're _so_ set to do it again. His fingers are skirting her sides, barely bunching her shirt, still mostly chaste, but too close to her breasts for her not to want them there, need them there. Her arms are covered in gooseflesh and her nipples have already pebbled tightly with the anticipation of his touch. "Touch me, Castle."

"Mmm. Not allowed." He's teasing her again, she knows. He shoves both of his hands into his pockets and leans in to fasten his teeth to a tendon in her neck, nipping and sucking. _So good_.

The first four buttons of his shirt have loosened and her open mouth is pressing to the skin there, giving as good as she gets. "My dad keeps saying he wants grandbabies. I think he knows how they materialize. Touching mandatory." His breath hitches under her lips and she stills against his chest. _Shit._ "God, Castle, I didn't mean—"

"I know what you mean." He sounds so serious, but when she meets his eyes, they're twinkling. "You don't want my babies. But your dad wants my babies. And since you're an only child," he pulls her close and his mouth finds her jaw, small kisses blazing a path to her ear. "You're just going to have to take one for the team." He bites her lobe and she continues attacking his shirt, untucking the fabric from his pants to reach the hidden buttons.

"No babies now. Future, maybe." She should be running for the hills by now, or covering her face in shame, or kicking him out so she can figure out how to reverse the mess her big mouth has made. But, she doesn't do any of the above. Because as reckless and fast and irrational the words are _now_, that is exactly what she wants with him. Family.

"_Maybe?_ I'll have you begging to dip into my gene pool."

"My, what big ego you have. How did you ever wheedle me into loving you?"

"Tantalizing charm." He claims her again, tongue pressing hotly against her own. His hands cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, angling her where she wants be, needs to be, deeper deeper deeper. "That's genetic too," he adds into her mouth.

"Noted."

She's opening her own shirt now and he pants a little as he watches her expose herself to him. He closes his eyes for a moment before grabbing her rear end and hauling her up onto his leg and _oh—_yeah, that right there—the nice pressure. He's ushering her backwards, but the pace of their progress is sluggish because she's busy rocking against his thigh every few steps. Oh, yeah, she's gonna—soon, she's close-oof. The backs of her legs bump her coffee table and she leans to avoid it, but he jerks her back, then down, and before she knows what's happening, he's easing her onto the sturdy wood and following her down. His previously restrained hands throw caution to the wind as they finally, _finally_ cradle her breasts, and the lace scraping against his palms is echoing in her ears. He's pressing them together so both sides of flesh meet his tongue in the middle where he laves at her scar, the normally numb patch of skin alive and tingling under his ministrations.

They're doing wicked things on top of her coffee table; she can feel a book of poetry under her shoulder and smell the cinnamon-pumpkin candle that's parked near her head, and she can't help but think '_I'm not that kind of girl'_, but oh hell, who is she kidding? She is _so_ that kind of girl with him, the kind of girl that's dragging his hand down her body to press it between her thighs where she needs that pressure again.

He obeys, pushing his palm into the fabric there, groaning with her when her legs fall further apart to accompany more movement. "Kate, what are we doing?"

"If you don't know by now, it's too late to explain." She pants a smile into his mouth and scratches down his chest, broad and strong. "Just follow my lead."

"Control freak."

"You like it."

"Love it. Love you." Leave it to him to make this a tender moment. His hand is between her legs and she's busying herself undoing his belt and top button of his slacks. "You know I've never met a woman that I wanted to give everything to. But, I want you to have it all, Kate."

"All I want is you."

"You have me."

"All of you," she puts pressure where he needs her most, likes feeling what she does to him.

"Not too soon?"

"Two years too late. Help me make up what we lost being stupid?"

**0000000000000000000000000**

She probably would have regretted it later, but she was ready for him, right there in her living room. He was having none of it, told her if she had a furniture fetish, they could practice on the kitchen table later (she smacked him _lightly_, even though he whined like a baby), but he wanted a bed this time. He also added that he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face in her living room again if they broke her coffee table.

They undressed quickly. The sun was setting outside and dusk bled through the blinds, flickered beautifully in the room, the world's gift of romance to them.

They climbed into the bed and kissed and caressed and mumbled still-shy words of love until there was nothing keeping them from the amalgamation of that love. When he rolled her onto her back, she almost protested, but his dark, claiming eyes begged for the reins and she handed them over freely, gasping as all restraint left him and he finally joined them.

"I had this dream once." He says it straightforwardly, calmly, as if he spends every day with her legs wrapped around his waist.

"Once?" She asks, skeptically.

"Okay, more than once." He lifts her hips and it slides her closer to him, him further inside her; both catch their breath on the movement and its pleasurable consequence. "Didn't want to sound like a perv."

The muscles in his arms are twitching beneath the skin as he holds himself over her, thrusts slowly, deeply, evenly, giving her a moment to catch his rhythm. She does and claws at his biceps, likes feeling his pent up energy ripple through to her fingertips. "No, that would have been you telling me what you were doing _while_ you were having this dream." She licks his chin, tongue catching on the tiny whiskers starting there; the rough scrape feels good, to him too if the new urgency of his hips against hers is any indication.

"We'll save that for next time." He kisses her and plucks her bottom lip from beneath her teeth, a quick taste before pushing back again to meet her eyes. She wants to keep hers open, on him, but she's forced to close them on a moan, ripple of intense pleasure.

_God, this is good. _

She's not surprised, but really is a little. She was sure some horrible karma-thing would have them be bad in bed together out of spite. He's not supposed to know about _that_ spot already, or how that one thing drives her crazy, or that _oh, yeahyeahyeah, right…there._ She hasn't had time to explore him quite as thoroughly. And he calls _her_ the control freak? She did find this patch of skin at the small of his back that makes him falter, hips jerk uncontrollably. She runs her nails over it again because she likes the glare he gives her when she muddles up his rhythm.

"Stop it," he says, all demanding and sexy. "I'm working here."

She wants to tell him what a damn fine job he's doing, but her breaths are coming quicker and her brain is turning into mush.

"Close, close." Music, they're making music. How clichéd. She wonders if fireworks are next. "Music," she mumbles, because seriously, it's there.

"I'd love to take the credit for that," he smiles into her shoulder as he pushes further into her. "But, I'm pretty sure that's my ringtone."

"Huh?" She looks over to the bedside table, where his phone was tossed next to hers. She smacks her hand against his phone and picks it up, holding it over his shoulder so she can read the display. "It's my _dad_," she groans. Her insides are fluttering around him and he's stilling inside her and she wants to throw the damn thing across the room.

"Do _not_ answer that," he warns.

"He's calling _you_. I can't answer it."

"Well, _I'm_ not answering it. I'll call him back. Hit ignore."

She presses the red button and throws her head back deep into the pillow, laughs loudly.

"Nothing about this is funny," he chides.

"A little?"

"Never say _little_ when there's a naked man on top of you."

"I'm not stroking your ego. You know what we're _not_ talking about. Lemme guess. You're worried about being castrated now, right?" She grins against his lips and he surrenders to her kiss.

He pulls back. "Don't say castrate when –"

"If the naked man would worry more about the naked woman, we'd be in business." She tugs on his hips to get him moving again and it only takes a moment before they're rocking frantically, back where they left off.

"I'm gonna—" She's panting now and some repetitive sound keeps leaving her throat, but she's too far gone to be embarrassed about it. Plus, he looks smug, satisfied, all sweaty above her, grinning like he's relishing in knowing what he can do to her. Well, she's pretty partial to it, too.

"Close, yeah?"

"Uh huh."

"I can't wait to feel it," he coaxes, voice deep against her ear and, at that, she's gone. Her eyes screw shut, she yelps _(what?)_, clutches at his back, moves moves moves to embrace the aftershocks until it's just too much. Yep, fireworks.

She watches his brow furrow in pleasurable pain, feels him flexing more quickly against her, tougher because of the fresh tightness, and then his arms give way and he drops to his elbows, torso pressed to hers as he finally gives into her.

**0000000000000000000000000**

"Call him."

"I can't. I'm naked in your bed."

She's laughing at him and he wants to kiss her to shut her up, but he's pretty sure they'll end up tangled in her sheets again and he's just delaying the inevitable as is.

"If you don't call him, I will."

"Not on my phone, you won't." He snatches his iPhone from her and gives her his best mean look, but she's sitting cross legged beside him, naked, but mostly beneath a sheet and she looks all kinds of hot and innocent. How she pulls that off, he'll never know, but has no complaints. He can only manage a pout as he unlocks his screen and pulls up his recent call list, her dad's number hovering at the top of the screen.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and touches the screen to call. He puts his finger to his lips to signal for Kate to keep quiet.

"Hey, uh, hi Jim. Yes, missed call. I saw that. Oh no, not too busy." He meets Kate's eyes, but closes them immediately. Irrational or no, he doesn't want _I'm looking at your naked daughter_ to come across in his voice.

"Ah, no need. No, it was my pleasure." His eyes jerk open when he hears Kate squeak out a small giggle. He covers the speaker at the bottom of the phone and scowls at her again. "I'm pretty sure you thanked me, sir. Yes, yes, we'll definitely do it again sometime."

"Well, she's not here. Or, I'm not there, rather." Pause. "Yeah," he sighs. "Okay, I will. Bye, Jim." He tosses the phone on the other end of the bed and puffs out a deep breath as he leans against the headboard.

Kate's looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. "That didn't seem so bad." She crawls over to him on hands and knees to kneel between his legs. "What'd he want?"

"To thank me for signing the book and for lunch. Insisted he forgot."

"See? Not so bad." She smiles and leans in to steal his mouth.

He takes her kiss _(how can he not?)_, and reels her into his lap. "He also said to tell you 'hi'."

**A/N: Yes, I know that two out of three of my fics have Jim interrupting sexytimes with a phone call. I don't know what my fetish is with that, but I'm acknowledging it before you have to! I hope I made this one different enough. My Microsoft Word free trial ends at the end of the month, and I'm still weighing the option of buying(why did it not come on my laptop and why did I not know this until I got home?). I'm really enjoying writing again more than I thought I would, though. We'll see. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I had a great time writing it. Feedback? **


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